


Drinking From the Bottle (is Bad for Your Health)

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Almost Kiss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming In Pants, Fluff and Humor, Frottage, Lunar Eclipse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles felt the usual mix of ‘oh God please don’t get any closer I might combust' and 'Please come closer so that I can stare at your fine self better' go through him as Derek approach him. Mixed blessings, that's what it was being within arms length of Derek Hale.</p><p>--</p><p>A lunar eclipse is in progress, Stiles is keeping watch on a very drunk Derek and things are about to take a surprising twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prettiest Alpha](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Prettiest+Alpha).



> Inspired from this post  
> 

While this wasn’t exactly a ‘once in a lifetime’ kind of experience (closer to a couple of times a lifetime to be accurate-ish), it was still pretty fucking priceless. Stiles’ body shook with repressed laughter, making the phone in his hand shake as well as the teenager filmed Derek staring down into the empty whiskey bottle, grumbling that someone had stolen his alcohol. The werewolf sat on his bed, blinking down his bottle while Stiles sat on the other side of the loft on the sofa.  
  


The angry puzzled expression that Derek made while tilting the empty bottle upside down made Stiles slap a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud. “Was it you?” Derek asked, shooting Stiles a distrustful glare from his spot on the couch.  
  


Frantically shaking his head, Stiles quickly saved the video and tucked the phone away because Derek was walking unsteadily up to him. Last time drunk!Derek and his phone had been together, Stiles had to get a new phone so, he’d rather not go down that path again. Before he slipped the phone into his pocket, Stiles did a quick time check. They were almost half way through the lunar eclipse and Derek was rip roaringly drunk. Three cheers for Derek being a lightweight drunk when his werewolfy powers were gone!

 

Stiles wondered how Scott and Isaac were doing and really hoped that they weren’t doing anything stupid. Stiles didn’t want to miss filming them and their stupid drunk antics. It was practically the only good thing about being the designated sober person during the total lunar eclipses a.k.a ‘lets get smashed to the point of almost killing our livers!’ hours for the pack werewolves.  
  


"How could I have stolen your alcohol when I’m way over here." Stiles offered, a shit eating grin on his face that didn’t give away the nervous pounding of his heart. It wasn’t that he was scared, far from it now that they’d all known each for… wow, had it been 2 years already? Time flew when you were killing evil things together.   
  


Stiles felt the usual mix of ‘ _oh God please don’t get any closer I might combust_ ' and ' _Please come closer so that I can stare at your fine self better_ ' go through him as Derek approach him. Mixed blessings, that's what it was being within arms length of Derek Hale.  
  


Unaware of Stiles’ dilemma, Derek walked right up to the man. Standing with his feet bracketing Stiles’ shoes. It gave Stiles an  _awesome_  view of Derek’s thighs and crotch. It gave Stiles a new appreciation for the man because anyone who could not only get into jeans that tight but also move around in them? Deserved a fucking medal. Or maybe he could just write a letter of appreciation to the people making these jeans 'cause  _daaaaaaayum_! Without any warning, LMFAO’s ‘Sexy and I Know It’ began to play in his head. At full volume. Damn his brain.

 

Stiles let out a nervous whimper when Derek leaned in, planting one hand on either side of Stiles’ head, effectively trapping Stiles in his seat. Stiles froze when he realized Derek’s face was right in front of him, half heartedly glaring as he said, “No. You  _did_ something. You  _always_ do something.” Were they even talking about the alcohol now? Stiles wanted to complain that this wasn’t the ride he’d agreed to sit on! He wanted out!

 

Or maybe it was better, he mused dizzily when he felt Derek’s words wash over his lips. They smelled of aged whiskey but it was Derek's breath so it was sending the wrong kind of signals to his lower brain. Maybe this was like booking an economy flight but then you got bumped into business class. Except Derek was a lot better than business class because he was all hot and Stiles wanted to get all up, on, around his cock, body, his  _everything_.  
  


His higher brain functions were going bye-bye the longer Derek stared down at him. And air, that wasn’t important for living right? Right. The light headedness Stiles was feeling was bound to go away on it's own any second now.  Or maybe it wouldn't so long as Derek stayed within kising range.  
  


Stiles’ eyes went down to Derek’s mouth, staring dry mouthed at the flash of pink that came out to wet thin lips. Oh to be that tongue. “You’re  _always_ there,” Derek mused, blinking slowly like there were weights attached to his eyelids. He sounded so adorably confused, like he couldn’t understand the concept of Stiles opting to stay with him. “You asshole.”  
  


Hey, hey, _hey_! Stiles frowned at the werewolf, hoping that it would cut through the alcohol induced… whatever it was that was surrounding Derek. This wasn’t his usual confused, happy drunk-ness state. It was more,  _way more_ , intense. Plus the complete lack of personal space. Derek was oddly more aware of his personal space when drunk. Except right now.  
  


One of Derek’s hand slipped between Stiles' shoulders and the sofa, pressing into his back, right under his shirt collar. The warm touch pushed the air out of Stiles’ lungs in surprise, making the older man grin. Stiles held his breath when that same hand crept up to cradle the back of his head in a gentle, so stupidly gentle, palm.  
  


"Always around with your face," Derek murmured, the tip of his nose tracing a line up Stiles’ cheek. Was this a dream? Hallucination?  _Whatever_ , Stiles didn’t want out of this! "Your lips." Derek continued softly. Stiles let his hands latch onto Derek in return, pulling on the man’s shirt when he felt tender lips kissing the corner of his jaw. He was _so glad_ he was already sitting or else his legs would have given out. 

 

"Your moles…" Derek murmured. Who could have guessed, or known, that eyes as pale green as Derek’s (with their pretty golden halo), could look so damned warm and fathomless in the right circumstances? The teenager whimpered, yanked out of his thought when another set of fingers sank into his hair and  _tugged_  his head back.

 

He stared up in pleasant shock at Derek, trying to memorize this moment as best as he could despite the fact that his brain had  _died_. It had died and gone on to brain heaven. His head feels too heavy for his neck and he’s  _so_ grateful that Derek’s holding it in place or else it might just roll off into a corner, all red and flushed.

 

“And your hair…” Derek made a pained face as he slid his fingers through Stiles’ hair in a way that made the teenager shiver and  _actually_  moan.  
  


Derek was leaning in now - head tilted, lips parted, intentions clear. The breath in Stiles’ lungs  _burned_ , spreading down all the way to his tingling  _toes_ before zipping back up his spine in the form of sparks and firecrackers. He wanted so much in that moment - wanted everything. Wanted to kiss Derek, pet him, comfort him, tease him, use him as a body pillow, complain where Derek would want the same, tug on his hair, hide under his arm, hug him anytime he wanted…  
  


Eager and nervous at the same time, Stiles quickly closed his eyes when he felt a warm puff of air over his lips. Derek being that close to his face would only kill Stiles’ brain cells and possibly make him blind. Or want to punch himself in the face. Better to close his eyes and wait for the sweet con-  
  


Stiles jumped when instead of lips pressing against his waiting mouth, he tasted hair gel. With a splutter, Stiles rubbed the back of his hand against his lips and yelped when that made Derek flop all the way into his lap. “De- _Derek_?!” Stiles cried out in surprise, hands shaking the older man’s shoulders. “You alright?”  
  


He got a hiccup and a burp in reply, which prompted to shove the unconscious werewolf off his lap with a hissed, “You’ve  _got_ to be  _shitting_ me!” Someone,  _somewhere_ was laughing at him right now. Stiles just fucking  _knew_ it! Over a year of waiting for Derek to make a move ( ~~and himself growing the balls necessary to ask Derek out)~~  and when he  _did_ , not only did he do it when he was drunk but he had _-_  
  


With a dark glare at Derek, who was kneeling on the floor and nuzzling into a sofa cushion, Stiles grumbled, “I hate my life.” Seriously. Hate.


	2. The Truth is…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The porny sequel that deals with the morning after!

When,  _exactly_ , had his life turned into a romantic-comedy and why hadn’t Stiles gotten that memo?  _That_  was the kind of information that could mean life or death! Or at least would help him avoid painfully embarrassing situations. Like this one!  


"You don’t remember  _anything_?” Stiles asked in what was hopefully an even voice, or atleast tone that didn’t betray how fucking  _hurt_  he felt.  


Derek glared at him over the top of the fridge door, body leaning into the open appliance. “That’s what I  _just_  said. How much did I drink anyways?”  


"Too much." Stiles mumbled bitterly under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. Why the fuck had he done something so monumentally stupid as getting his hopes up? Stiles should have  _known_ that this would happen because that was his life. Nothing but a big ole punchline in the world’s most obvious romantic joke. Sorry kid, but the guy you like got so drunk he forgot he'd come on to you.  


Derek was still looking at him, a strange expression passing over his face before he schooled into something more curious. “Did something happen?”  


There was a clear moment of hesitation there, Stiles was a little ashamed to admit that. He  _could_ say that ‘Yeah, something  _did_ happen! You cornered me and almost kissed me but before you could, you passed out in my lap! And when I tried to dump your sorry ass in bed, you wouldn’t let go of me! I had to kick you a few times before you let go of me!’  


But Stiles knew that he’d give too much away of his own feelings because his voice was certain to go too high, choke at some point and somewhere near the start, there’d be a giant lump in his throat that’d keep the air from passing through his vocal chords and just-  


"No." Stiles feigned a bored shrug, leaning against the counter, hands reaching out for the spoon and bowl Derek had placed there. That wasn’t a lie. Nothing really had happened the night before.  


Keeping his eyes on the dark stone pattern, Stiles told himself to not think about the what if’s. To ignore the pain that rose from the knowledge that he’d passed up his only chance to maybe go back to the path that Derek had almost put them both on.   


His brain felt like it was trying to catch a herd of sheep that were running wily-nilly all over a giant field. There were too many thoughts to focus on and Stiles just couldn’t pick one. There was the fact that he  _wants_ Derek so bad that it made his  _teeth_   **hurt**. But if Derek doesn’t remember does that mean that he never intended for Stiles to know? Or maybe he was just not ready to reveal his feelings? Maybe it wasn't feelings. Maybe it was just lust. Maybe it was just the alcohol. Or maybe Derek was just lonely and Stiles was convenient.  


Swallowing hard, Stiles blinked hard and exhaled slowly. He didn’t look away when Derek closed the fridge with a soft ‘thwip’. It took so much effort to raise his head and meet Derek’s gaze, one eyebrow already up in inquiry. There was that strange look again on Derek’s face but far more intense than before. Stiles didn’t know how to read it but there was a worrying churning sensation in his stomach that told him that it didn’t bode well for him.

 

“You’re lying.” Derek stated slowly, eyes narrowing slightly as he began to  _stalk_ up to Stiles. “I don’t even have to listen to your heart to know that.”

 

Stiles sucked in a quick breath, eyes widening before quickly ticking over to the loft entrance. Before he could get on his feet, Derek was in front of him. Strong hands grabbed him, holding his frozen body in place. “ _Why_ wouldn’t you want me to know what happened last night?”  


Gaping like a fish out of water, Stiles couldn’t find even a single word to come out of his mouth as he stared into Derek’s eyes. The werewolf looked so hurt, so angry! He couldn’t understand what he’d said to cause such a reaction! Derek’s hands tightened before relaxing but not enough that Stiles could shake himself out of. “What did I do?” Derek asked.  


Huh? What was… His brain scrambled to understand the question, unable to _stand_ this proximity with Derek’s stupid, sexy stubble. ”What makes you think I’m lying?” Stiles breathed out, hands clutching the stool for dear life. ‘ _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!’_ The urge to shove Derek away and make a break for his Jeep had  _never_ been higher because there was no way, no  _fucking_   **way** …  


The unamused look he got made Stiles squirm uncomfortably. “The fact that you’re not answering my question.” Derek answered in a low tone. “You  _always_ make fun of me after I’ve gotten drunk. You tell me that I did something stupid. You always show me the video you took and threaten to upload it online. You didn’t do that today. You looked like… you were waiting for something. For  _me_ to do something.”  


True. Stiles had hoped so dearly that Derek would just suddenly remember almost kissing him so that Stiles could reach out and kiss Derek and then breathlessly demand an explanation. He’d hoped and wished and gotten nothing but an irritated, grouchy look. His life, seriously.  


"What did I do, Stiles?" Derek asked, leaning in closer. Having Derek so near to him  _again_ within the space of the 24 hours, and knowing that he’d almost been kissed by those thin lips, made Stiles’ heart  _ache_ with a fierce longing. "What happened?"  


It made him shake his head, a bitter downturn on his lips. “ _Nothing_.” He hissed, shoving Derek back with both hands. The werewolf stumbled back a step. It made just enough room for Stiles to get up on his feet and begin to walk away. “You didn’t do  _anything_! _Nothing_ happened! That's the whole problem!”   


Stiles was out in the open area that constituted as Derek’s living room when he felt a hand wrap around his arm again. It was reflexive to stop and try to shove the hand off, turning around to glare at Derek to seal the deal. But when he caught sight of the werewolf’s stricken expression, Stiles halted.   


"That… I didn’t…" Derek stammered.  _Derek_  .  **stammered**. The world as Stiles knew it was going to end any second now. The sky was going to fall on his head. “It wasn’t a dream?” The weak question coupled with Derek’s suddenly pale complexion cut off any and all sarcastic comments that came to life on Stiles’ tongue.  


Instead, he swallowed them down like a bitter pill and asked, “What wasn’t?”   


It wasn’t a kind thing to ask this, to push the matter. But it had to be done right? Derek’s hand slid down to loosely clasp Stiles’ bony forearm. “I almost kissed you didn’t I?” Just the way Derek asked that, like he’d almost committed a crime, made Stiles’ stomach drop like a stone.   


And then go  _lower_  when Derek’s eyes lowered to rest on the floor in shame. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Stricken, the teenager stared at Derek’s head and tried not to feel like he’d lost something before even getting it!  


"Don’t." Stiles choked on the word. "Don’t be. I…" Honesty. Be honest. That’s the one thing he’d told himself to be with the people in his life, especially after what had happened as a result of lying to his dad. After everything they'd all been through. "I’m not mad about that. You don’t have to apologize because nothing happened so it’s…"  


Derek abruptly raising his head made Stiles jump back, forgetting to finish his sentence. “Then,” The werewolf asked in confusion. “why  _are_  you mad?”   


Oh dear  _God_. Was he going to have to spell this out? Stiles stared up at the ceiling, feeling hysterical laughter crawling up his throat. Why was this his life? Seriously. “ _Think_  about it.” He replied back with a meaningful look.  


It took less than a few seconds for Derek to get it. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was grateful or irritated about how surprisingly astute (and knowledgeable) the werewolf could be sometimes. He was still trying to figure out how to feel about the matter when Derek breathed out, “You’re mad I didn’t kiss you.”  


A hot flush rose up his face so fast that Stiles actually got dizzy. He looked away, out the grimy windows, not wanting to meet Derek’s eyes. This was about nineteen times more embarrassing than Stiles had anticipated.

 

“Oh.”   


Stiles didn’t get more than a second to wonder about that noise when firm hands took hold of his face and made him turn around to face Derek. Flailing at the sudden manhandling, Stiles blinked at Derek. “Wha-“   


Derek’s lips accepted the question and answered back with a sweet pressure that made Stiles’ knees go weak  _immediately._ He didn’t know what to do with hands, other than waving them around in confusion but that wouldn’t be good kissing behavior. So Stiles grabbed at Derek’s shirt, fisting the soft material hard, harder until his knuckles hurt. The pressure against his lips went away slowly, making Stiles lean in for more. Instead of another kiss, he felt a brush against his nose and a warm push against his forehead. Stiles opened his eyes (when had they closed?), and peeked through half-open eyes at Derek’s amazed face. 

 

"You  _wanted_  me to kiss you.” The werewolf’s statement was warm against Stiles’ parted lips, brushing against his teeth and the tip of his tongue. Stiles would later think about how those sensations, coupled with Derek’s hot hands holding his face, let loose a whimper from his chest.  


It was gratifying, and it also lowered his own embarrassment, when Derek made a strangled noise in return and came back for another kiss. This time Stiles lets his hands wander. He touched Derek’s shifting back muscles, bony shoulder blades, the surprisingly soft curve of his shoulders. So intent was he in his study that Stiles missed the way Derek had backed them both against a wall.  


"Awesome." Stiles murmured appreciatively, not thinking and just moving to accommodate Derek’s thigh slipping between his shaking legs. The kissing was awesome, the touching was awesome and  _whoa, holy fucking shit on a stick! That was Derek’s thigh moving higher up between his legs!_  
  


Pulling away to gasp for air, Stiles tilted his head back and tried to get  _some_ of his bearings back. Getting them all back was fucking impossible now. Several of them had rolled off into the dark corners of the loft and Stiles was certain he’d never see them again. Those poor bearings.  


His scattered thoughts turned as light as clouds and floated away with the wind when Derek’s hands  _yanked_ on his hips so that Stiles’ back was against the wall but his hips were aligned with Derek’s. Ooooh,  _son of a bitch that was Derek._ Derek’s cock. His dick. His hard dick. Derek was hard. For him. Because of him. He was  _hard!_  


He was on fire, Stiles was certain of that. His organs were burning, melting, turning to delicious ash the longer, harder Derek’s kisses became. They were now firmly in passionate, dirty, ‘i want in your pants right  _now_ ' territory or that was how Stiles was going to read it. He had pretty compelling evidence for it. Like Derek’s hands touching his neck, back, going under his shirts to touch his back and trying to wriggle their way under his jeans. The biting kisses, the sweeping tongue were also excellent evidence. And Stiles hadn’t even gotten to all the quiet  _noises_  that Derek was trying to hold back. And of course the dick that was grinding against his through several layers of clothes.

 

Stiles’ hands had wound up in Derek’s hair, holding on for dear life as he felt more and more of his body turn light, lighter, lightest as the pleasure rose. He was certain that his head was going to float off towards the sky the second he came. “De-” Stiles sobbed, trying to get the man’s name out from his mouth where it had been resting so comfortably.  


Derek’s motions took a more frenzied edge, bordering on desperate. His kisses were open mouthed and messy. His hands had slipped down under Stiles’ thighs, encouraging and helping him wrap his long legs around Derek’s waist before guiding him into a hard grind.  


It was the sweetest kind of desperation that Stiles had ever experienced. Made sweeter when Derek whispered his name, broken and happy at the same time. Stiles stared down at Derek. The werewolf’s face had two spots of high color on his cheeks, his eyes were frenzied and dark and his lips… Stiles couldn’t stop himself from wondering if just  _kisses_ made them turn so pink and swollen, what would a blow job do?  


The mental image of that did Stiles in. His body  _jerked,_ shuddering in and against Derek’s hard body as he came inside his pants, something he hadn’t done since he was 13! He came and came hard, whining low in his throat as Derek’s hips began to grind and roll in a way that made the orgasm stretch longer.  


When he came too, Stiles felt too heavy, too light and extremely aware of Derek’s hands holding onto ass as the man used him to achieve his own orgasm. And fuck if that sight and realization didn’t make Stiles’ cock twitch and express it’s interest in a round 2. “I’m… gonna…” Derek groaned, pressing his mouth against Stiles’ shoulder before pressing all the way against the teenagers’ body.  


It took some effort to de-tangle his fingers from Derek’s hair and to wrap his arms around the werewolf’s body, holding him close as he shivered and came as well.   


If he never had to move from his spot, Stiles would be the happiest man alive. At least until his orgasm began to grow sticky inside his shorts. Which, for the record, felt really gross and  _weird_. So it took all of a minute to begin squirming against Derek and whispering, “If I admit that I wanted you to kiss me last night, are you gonna let me go?”  


Derek grunted, moving in such a way that their hips brushed against each other again. With a gasp, Stiles wished he had enough room to pull back and give Derek a dirty look.   


"Can we at least move to the sofa? Or the bed?" Stiles whined, wriggling as he suddenly realized how uncomfortable the brick wall was against his back. "I think I’ve got scratches from the wall or something."  


There was movement on his shoulder. Derek rubbed his forehead into Stiles’ shoulder, huffing quietly before straightening up to give Stiles a tiny amused smile. Stiles peered back, feeling confident and happy because of all the wonderful post-orgasmic hormones and stuff flooding his system. Point being that he felt too good to feel shy right now. But give him 20 minutes, he’d get there eventually. But at that moment? He stared back at Derek, serene and a little curious as the werewolf held his gaze and kept giving him that mysteriously soft smile.

 

“What?” Stiles finally asked, wriggling his toes inside his sneakers. Damn, they were a little numb. Was that because of the orgasm or their present position?

 

"You wanted me to kiss you." Derek murmured, smile growing an inch or so. Oh come  _on_. Did he  _have_ to say that in such a stupidly happy tone? His face went hot again, cheeks burning so much that Stiles was certain that they were red-red!   


With a small slap on the werewolf’s back, Stiles grumbled, “If you want to be technical about it,  _you_ wanted to kiss me first.” Ha! Take that you stupid closet romantic!  


Derek’s eyes went softer still, which,  _gah_! Was nine kinds of unfair and possibly illegal in all 50 states.

 

“I did.” He murmured, sliding his hands up under Stiles’ shirt to rest against his sides before leaning to rub their noses together in a fleeting eskimo kiss.  


Oh for. Stiles felt his stomach turn into pink goop at the tender contact. Taking a leaf out of Derek’s book, Stiles hid his face against Derek’s shoulder with a grumbling noise and attempted to kick the man.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a porny follow up to this that I will post in a few days!


End file.
